Pride and Suicide
by Shmeeko
Summary: Zeolite would be out for blood when he awoke, sober and angry. He would laugh and tease, leaving a trail of destruction and chaos in his wake. He was a danger to everyone and everything around him, including himself.  OC Character Study- No canons, sorry.


**Although I usually dislike these kinds of stories, I'm kind of looking for feedback, so I'm posting this. It's an Original Character Study. There are no canons, just a badass porcupine. Sorry :P**

**But if you can stomach that kind of stuff, then please do read on and let me know what you think. This was created to try and iron out a Roleplay character for a game who was underdeveloped and all over the place. I feel as if I've got him figured out now, but something still kinda feels funny to me. If you read this, let me know what you think.**

**Thanks a million, and enjoy.**

**Also, there is some heavy swearing and adult themes here. You've been warned.**

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><p>This was not one of his favourite places.<p>

The music was loud and obnoxious - a continuous pounding that those less in tune with their natural sensitivity felt the need to jump about to. So much fog hung just over the floor that it was impossible to see more than five feet in any direction. If that wasn't enough, the flashing of neon lights were blinding, catching on each individual molecule and filling the room with too much colour. The air tasted of sweat and alcohol - usually a welcome aroma to the likes of him, were it not mixed with an unpleasant masculinity.

Still he moved through the crowd, discarding his drink with the first convenient passerby. Sharp blue eyes picked their way through the throng of bodies, searching as if for someone in particular. Eventually something caught his eye - a flash of silver in an otherwise dim atmosphere. He turned his stare to the source, hungry eyes falling on the inviting figure of a hedgehog female. She'd been swaying side to side, not quite into the music but quite into her drink. By the haze in her eyes and the stench of alcohol on her fur when he approached - he realized this was an easy target.

Their eyes met before he was in close proximity, communicating momentarily without words. Staying true to the concept of body language, the porcupine reached out with a hand, palm up as if in a chivalrous invitation to dance. Caught off guard by this politeness, she put both of her dainty, gray-furred hands into his larger one with a giggle. This was all the invitation he needed to pull her close, wrap his other arm around her small waist and bury his muzzle into her neck, just underneath a soft jaw. He breathed in a welcome scent of alchohol and feminine perfume, grinning against the fur of her neck.

Her breath hitched and she pressed herself closer to him.

This was not one of his favourite places, but it was all too easy to get a quick fix here - too many women with too much to drink and too little self-esteem.

As he traced his lips up closer to hers, he felt a brief vibration in his jacket pocket, followed by a shrill ring that was almost drowned within the noise of the club.

He growled, tempted to ignore it and work his prey back somewhere with a little more privacy. It rang again, then again, then fell silent. He didn't realize that in listening for the device, he'd paused in his ministrations to the young femme in his grip. Impatient and eager, she pulled him closer by the collar.

He tightened his grip around her, letting a feral growl rumble from the back of his throat until the ringing started up again, seemingly louder.

The male heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, freeing one of his hands to fish into his pocket.

"S'cuse me, babe," he purred, keeping her firm in his grip as he lifted his phone to his ear. Feeling lazy and confident, he rested his chin on the top of the girl's head, all but yelling into the phone to answer.

"Yo."

"Zeo! You've got an assignment!" The male grimaced, staring at the phone in disgust as he pulled it away from an over sized ear. He narrowed his eyes in careful thought, thinking through his next words before saying them.

"A what?" He shouted.

"An assignment! Where are you? Are you at another one of those clubs?"

"Sorry, Gryphon, I can't hear you! Bad reception!"

"Zeolite, don't you dare lie to me, those damn ears of yours can't possibly-"

"Gryphon? Gryphon? General? Are you there? I can't hear you!"

"Zeo, we're done playing with you! You have duties!"

"I'm gonna have to call you back when I've got reception, General!"

"This is your last warning, Zeo, we're ready tor-"

He snapped the phone shut, returning his attention to the puzzled femme beneath him.

"What was that? You were talking to a General?" The hedgehog wasn't sure whether or not to be impressed or intimidated.

"Nah, that's just what we call him, he's quite the joke-"

Suddenly, the music shut off, sparking of chorus of confused, angered and surprised voices from the crowd of dancers. The overhead fluorescents clicked on. Sirens began to sound from outside the club.

The male growled, the sound feral and annoyed and catching his current prey off guard.

"Hey, are you okay? What's going on?" She didn't have a name to call him by.

A squad of black-clad soldiers burst their way through the door, ignoring the startled screams of the dancers inside. One of them set a curious black box on the ground, made a series of motions with his hands, then stepped back. Seconds after, the box let out a shrill, high-pitched screech. Many of the patrons cried out and covered their ears, some more affected than others. Gradually, the sound got higher and higher - the frequency leaving the range of some and putting others in greater pain.

"What was that - Hey, is it still going?" Zeolite's temporary companion reached over to the male, placing her hand on his shoulder. His eyes were wide, teeth gritting tightly together as he pulled his ears down against his head. He was one of the few whereas the higher the frequency - the more painful it was to him. Some of the more hearing-sensitive patrons had already hit their knees, head in their hands. However, he did not have that luxury. He turned and shoved his way through the crowd, hands over his ears as he headed towards the back door, leaving the female standing puzzled behind him.

He burst out the back door, the noise still shrill in his mind. Stumbling angrily down the alleyway, he didn't quite know where he was going - just away from the noise. However, that noise, despite its diminishing volume, cleverly hid the footsteps of another as they followed him through the alleyways.

It had taken a long, painful hour to finally get the ringing cleansed from his mind. In that time, he'd managed to get himself to the other side of the city - into a run down, low-class bar and picked up right where he left off. He had a pretty little thing hooked over his arm within fifteen minutes of being there. His drinks went on her tab and she was the one to take him home. He barely had to do much more then stand there and look pretty.

Later that night, he sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the floor with an unimpressed expression. The neck of a beer bottle dangled loosely from his fingers, half-empty.

The girl had been too drunk to get much out of. They'd collapsed onto her bed, fooled around some in honest intentions to go further when she promptly lost consciousness, clearly unable to hold her alcohol as well as she claimed. Dissatisfied at the poor circumstances but in no mood to drive the whole thing himself, Zeolite had simply laid with her for quite some time. In truth, he was trying to extract some sort of normality from the contact - the cuddling he usually avoided.

In his mind, he humored a different world.

One where the feline beside him was more than just some barely-legal target with poor self-esteem searching for a way to make herself feel better. Where they were more than just a one-night-stand that never happened. In this world, this was where he belonged: at her side and in this room. This was not 'her' place where he was crashing, but 'theirs'. A place he'd earned through work and a joint agreement between them both. This was where a real future for himself was being built. One where he could live normally.

Nevermind normally,

One where he could _live_.

"Zeolite, you must stop this nonsense."

But in the end, this was only a fantasy. A selfish fantasy that really had nothing to do with the girl beside him - any girl would've fit the bill just fine. He was instead forced to face reality, lazily finding the owner of the voice within his gaze as he smothered this terrible pining for something more.

A dark wolf melted out of the shadows - dressed in a familiar dark green uniform and standing straight, arms behind him in attention. Zeolite scoffed at the familiar being, lifting the beer that had been dangling in his fingers to his lips.

"It's gone on long enough."

"I dunno what you're talkin' about." Zeo lifted a hand to rub absently at the quills on the back of his head, massaging his skull under the light brown fur.

The wolf moved closer to him.

"You damn well do, soldier."

The curt tone he'd used was wasted on the porcupine, who simply offered his superior a lazy smile. Seeing this, the wolf sighed. He knew a lot more about this agent than most did - than the rodent himself believed others to know. He'd been there when the boy, shivering and sad, was dragged into their fresh, clean facility by a military-ranking father. He couldn't have been older than five when he took his first test.

Some of the scars could still be found beneath his fur, though he was sure by now they would've been buried by countless others.

"They're losing patience with you, Zachary."

"Finally."

"No. That's not a good thing. You know if you carry on like this, the commander will have you executed."

Zeolite let out a joyless laugh, leaning back on the bed and taking another swig of his drink. The wolf grimaced at the sight, noting the way the porcupine swayed from side to side, the far-off look in his otherwise sharp stare, not to mention the smell that came off him in waves.

"You're drunk," he observed.

"Aye, Cap'n."

"How much have you had?"

The younger male lifted the bottle level with his eyes, swished it around and shrugged.

"Lost count," he answered honestly.

The wolf growled and snatched the bottle out of his hands, smashing it on the floor below. Absolutely no one reacted to the sound, however. The cat was out cold and the porcupine too used to violent sounds and too drunk to interpret the threat in that action.

"On your feet, soldier. You _know_ you've an assignment. Why would you do this?"

"Shits 'n giggles, sir." The brown-furred male rose slowly, reaching non-chalantly into the wolf's breast pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. The wolf in question was too shocked by the sudden action to stop him from lighting one and taking a long drag. Disgusted, he slapped it out of the younger male's hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Smoking."

"No shit. You don't smoke."

Zeolite shrugged.

"Do now."

At the angered snarl he was receiving, the porcupine smiled devilishly. He leaned forward, causing the direct reaction of his commanding officer to lean back.

"You smoke," Zeolite observed with a grin, "don't be gettin' all hypocritical on me."

"I'm not in the same position as you," he argued lamely. Despite the many holes in his verbal counter, the young agent shrugged it off.

"Shame, that. If ya ever want to trade..."

"No. Now let's go."

"'M a little unfit for duty," chuckled the porcupine, "can't it wait 'til mornin'?"

"_Come,"_ The wolf grabbed at the rodent's neck, towing him along behind him as he moved towards the door - grabbing the kid's jacket off a nearby chair. He stormed down the stairs, his captive keeping his balance admirably well despite his condition and the pace of his movements. Only when they were out of the girl's apartment and into the neighboring alley did the wolf spin and slam the porcupine into the stone wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Sex, drugs, Rock 'n roll," the porcupine droned, though the sharp attention in his eyes portrayed that he was a little more attentive than he was letting on. The wolf sighed, stepped back and massaged his temples with a thumb and forefinger.

"I know, Zachary."

"Zeolite," the young soldier corrected firmly.

"I know what you're doing."

"Do you now?"

"The disobedience, the blatant lack of care for authority, the drinking, the smoking...the running. You're pushing buttons."

"S'what I do."

The slurred words and heavy stench of alochol seemed to pale in light of the intense stare the wolf was receiving, as if daring him to continue. The general, unphased by this, did indeed continue.

"You seem to be trying to draw a certain reaction, though. You deliberately disobey powerful people - you shame the organization any possible way you can. Your father-"

At this, Zeolite cut him off with a slow growl.

"Now, Gryphon. I like ya, but you're-"

"Your father," the wolf continued, "would've pulled the plug by now if it were anyone else, wouldn't he?"

"Gavin..."

"But that's the problem, isn't it, Zachary? Despite everything you've done, he _hasn't_ pulled the plug yet. You're still alive and kicking - you're still being enlisted for more assassinations. More raids. More attacks."

The wolf took his younger comrade's tense posture and clenched fists as a sign that he was getting this right - so continued, aware of the deadly glare he was receiving.

"How long have you been doing this, 'Zeolite'? Fifteen years? More? Considering you're now pushing twenty-one, that's most of your life now, isn't it? You were one of the first inducted into this program, and you've certainly been the one to survive the longest. Those before you are dead - killed in action. Yet you have the luck to survive." A chilling silence covered the alleyway when the wolf paused. The sound carried such a threatening, deadly air that Gryphon felt rushed to fill it again.

"But do you consider it luck? They were put through the same training as you - if not a through a program a little more lenient, but they died quicker, didn't they? Tell me, Zeo - are you the lucky one, or are _they?"_

Suddenly the wolf was slammed against the wall, pain arching up his spine, being so unprepared for the action. Despite his intoxication, the porcupine was still terrifyingly deadly. Faster than he could think to react, Zeolite had grabbed the wolf by the collar and reversed their positions, now pressing his hands into his superior's chest with dangerous force. He could feel his ribcage on the verge of caving. He wheezed, trying to get words out as his hands tried to pull away the pressure at the wrists in vain.

"You're...only proving...me..."

"Right, Gryffe?" Zeolite hissed, struggling to keep his words from slurring any more. "Do you want me to say it for you, _Gryphon?_"

The pressure on the general's chest eased enough for him to speak.

"I already know, don't I? You said it yourself, you're proving me right."

The pressure was re-applied and he could feel an uncomfortable cracking coming from his ribs. Any more and they would snap. One would think that in working with these subjects, they would be more prepared to deal with such situations, but that's just the problem. At this point in the experiment, where subjects had been a part of the project for over five years, nevermind fifteen, they were expected to obey without question. They didn't need forceful treatment because they were obedient.

But officials chose to overlook Zeolite. Despite his obvious tendancy to rebel, he had ties to the founders of the project. He was their most dangerous weapon, and like it or not he couldn't turn away from them for long. He needed them. He was free to throw his fit and stretch his legs every once in a while, because ultimately he would have to face the truth again - that there was simply no true escape.

"_Please,_" Gryphon pleaded, unable to help himself through the pain. Thankfully, Zeolite liked him enough to ease some of the pressure. "Let me say what I know, will you?"

He received no response, so carried on.

"You're a proud person, Zeolite. You always have been, it's in your blood. But you couldn't have been older than four when you were first introduced to this project. The things you put up with as a child...as an adult...they would make most grown men scream, cry, and plead for freedom."

Zeolite growled, but made no indication that he had to stop.

"But everyone has their breaking point, boy...They have spent a long, long time looking for yours, but that doesn't mean you are without one. They haven't even realized you're beyond it yet, have they?" He paused to let out a wheezing laugh, unable to do very much more in his current position. "And why would they? Your well being is not their concern - only your performance. Whatever face you put on for them is all they see, and you're really good at putting on a tough front. The 'Zeo' everyone knows is confident, sly, strong, so sure of himself in everything he does..."

"Your pride is your undoing, kid. You're so far gone it's sad. Everything you do is now all aimed at one thing, right? You're done here, but you're just too proud to take yourself out of the picture. That's why you rebel - why you're so much more reckless and ruthless than usual. So much more careless in your attacks, your defenses..."

"_Just say it."_ The porcupine hissed, as if _he_ was the one with an unnatural force pushing down on his chest.

"No, Zeolite. I won't. I want you to say it for me."

This proved to be the wrong choice of words, for the drunken porcupine snarled and shoved forward with such a force that the wolf felt multiple snaps within his chest. He cried out in pain, biting his tongue hard to stop the sound from getting any louder. Zeo backed off, letting the general clatter to the floor while standing over him, livid.

"I won't say shit for you, Gryphon, because whatever it is you think you're getting at, you're _wrong._You're wrong, stupid and weak. Pursue me again about whatever god damned assignment I've been given and I'll break the _rest_ of the bones in your body. I'll get to it when I damn well feel like it."

With that, the seething porcupine whirled, trying to stalk angrily out of the alley. However, three steps out and he was wobbling on unstable legs. His head spun, he felt nauseous. What was most puzzling was how sudden it was. One minute he'd felt fine - the next this.

"I really am sorry, Zeolite. But I have my orders..."

He whirled - or tried to, stumbling over his feet and nearly falling into a pile of trash - to face the wolf, who was trying to push himself to his feet.

"It's impressive how long you withstood the neurotoxin...your companion was out within seconds...you...you're still going...The tests...they were at least successful if nothing else...right?" Gryphon offered his young friend a weak, sympathetic smile, ignoring the way the porcupine shook with rage. There was nothing he could do, however, and ultimately fell to his knees, then clattered to the floor in unconsciousness. Still reeling from the pain, the wolf reached for a short-wave radio in his pocket.

"Agent Zeolite is down. I'm wounded and awaiting extraction."

"Copy that, moving to your location."

The wolf sighed and put the radio down, shutting his eyes against the pain in his ribs. When he re-opened them, he found himself drawn to the mess of quills lying but a few feet away. Zeolite would be out for blood when he awoke, sober and angry. He could see it now, the porcupine laughing and joking his way through destruction and havoc. He was a danger to everyone and everything around him, including himself.

But really, in the end, all he felt for the boy was pity.

He put up with so much. The tests were a monumental success with him. His strength was otherworldly, his battle knowledge extensive and he had a natural gift for exploiting the weakness of others. His laid-back and easygoing demeanor coupled with a deadly talent for destruction made him a formidable foe, and therefore so very useful to the orginization that funded his genetic enhancement.

But Zeolite was dangerously unstable.

He was sick of living, without a doubt. Sick of following orders, sick of training, killing, running. It was a game of chase or be chased with him, and he was tired of both roles. It had become clear to those who spent time around him that he was looking for a way out. The missions he was sent out on he would accomplish - but dangerously. He'd blow things up, throw himself into fights heavily outnumbered or bring down the building on top of him. However, his pride forbid him to simply lay down and die.

No, he wanted to go out in brilliant flames - in the heat of action, amidst the chaos of panic and destruction. He would cause these legitimately terrible situations and then force himself to try and escape. And may fate have it that he would fail in escaping his own trap, the military would pull him out of the rubble and do whatever they could to bring him back. To be honest, the young agent had already died twice, but on-field medics coupled with well-charged defibrillators meant his heart never stopped beating for long.

This explained why he was so eager to anger others - to drive people into fights with him. He _wanted_ to lose. He _wanted _to aggravate someone to a point where they wouldn't think twice about killing him if they had the chance. This was why he was on a self-destructive spiral which involved indulging in the sins of life in hopes karma would see his justice firm and unforgiving.

But knowing Zeo and his uncanny luck, he would be stuck in this vicious circle for years to come. He would throw himself into a flurry of violence and destruction, hoping to meet a glorious end and the welcome peace that would follow it - but the military would drag him back to fill their desires - to act as their hand. As long as he remained dangerous, they would have a use for him - somehow.

It's not like he could just turn and leave, either. They had him successfully hooked on a short leash - they had him plagued by a biological serum that could become acidic with the press of a button. The only way he could escape the burning of his blood was to receive a temporary antidote from the medical wing on his facility. He _had_ to return, or never experience the glory-following peace he sought. So long as he did return, though, they would ensure he survived until they had no use for him.

He would forever be chasing a peace that could never exist until provided for him.

Death was just easier.

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><p><strong>Thoughts?<strong>

**But thank you for reading, I really appreciate your attention :3**

**Toodles!**

**Shmee~**


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